


Hello Again, I Missed You

by Honey_Rae_Pluto



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, also you picked the story don't blame me, changing the rules of time, its cool we fix it, perhaps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Rae_Pluto/pseuds/Honey_Rae_Pluto
Summary: On Roger's arm were words that didn't ever fade, not until it was too late and he'd lost the love of his life.But what happens when he's given a second chance? A second set of words for the same soulmate?
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 39
Kudos: 36





	1. Would I Were As Steadfast As Thou Art

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thank you so much for reading, this one is going to be a little bit different.
> 
> I have an outline for it with various different endings, and comments can very much tilt how this goes - handing over control of time and space to all two people that are inevitably going to read and ignore this, nonetheless; these choices will kick off more on my tumblr (same name, a lot of this chapter started life there so head over if you have any requests or are just curious).
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> UPDATE, FIRST QUESTION:  
> This will determine how the story goes,
> 
> Does Roger help Freddie do something morally wrong, or does he ignore his friend to try work out more about his seemingly time traveling situation?
> 
> Answer below or on Tumblr! You have one week!
> 
> (Small side question; where's the best place to put this out? Here or Tumblr or both? Might do a taglist if it's wanted)

1991

'I’ve missed you' were the words that were written on Roger's arm. They had been there since he could remember, and they had never faded, never faltered, never left.

He knew from a young age that it didn’t make sense, at least not logically. For someone to have missed him he had to know them, so how could it be their first words?

He found out later it was something genetic, an anomaly. Most people's words were the first ones their soulmates would say to them. He went to school with ten variations of 'Hello', seven 'I don't think we've met before's and one 'For the love of God why is the potting shed on fire.'

The latter was bullied profusely. Still, he found his love after a freak accident with a lawn mower and a shed. They had all found their loves.

All except Roger. He'd dated - perhaps if those words weren't his first they'd be somewhere else. Near the beginning. But no such luck. He had never seen them even close to fade. No one missed him apparently. So he gave up.

Not that he didn’t have fun, he was a world renowned musician on tour half the time. He watched as Brian and John found their soulmates, watched as they became unmarked and settled and became reasonably happy. He watched as Freddie - who didn’t seem to have a mark at all (a common if unfortunate condition) fell in and out of relationships.

He watched as Queen rose and fell, as their lives seemed to become a sickening Punch and Judy show.

Freddie wasn't well, it wasn't going to be long probably until the end. But still the older man tapped the bed beside him.

"Blondie," he smiled weakly, but it was still enough to make Roger smile back, "Come here. Keep me company tonight, tomorrow we can watch some Christmas films."

"It's November, Fred, I'm not watching Christmas anything," Roger smiled, settling beside him, holding him as close as he dared. "You feeling better then?"  
"Perhaps. Let me get some sleep, darling. Just be closeby." Freddie held his hand slightly, closing his eyes, "I've missed you."

***

It wasn't his soulmate's first words.

It was his soulmate's last.

And now every last word was gone from him.

***

1992

It had been weeks since the funeral now. Roger was getting used to life without the words on his arm.

He wasn't getting used to life without him.

Christmas had come and gone, John had fallen away slightly now, staying close to his wife and kids, popping up every now and then to comment on the ideas for the tribute concert or a tribute album of some sort. Nothing was set in stone yet, and as far as Roger was concerned the world had moved on. The story was over and only the vultures came to pick at the remains. What was left of the remains.

What was left of him.

Brian was a different issue, something that needed an eye kept on him. Just for now, for the rough patch. And Roger did it, knowing what Freddie would say. What he'd do rather; fussing over them all to make sure they were eating and sleeping and not worrying. So Roger took over.

He was at Brian's that night, the older man making no attempt to move from the couch while he pottered about the kitchen trying to find some food of any description.

He shut the cupboard angrily, fully intending to have a go at Brian for the lack of everything in his house. But something made him pause. Some strange burning pain made him stare wide-eyed at his arm as the words started to fade into existence.

"Hello again darling."

***

1996

He'd had to take a breather. It was times like this he wished he still smoked, that at least would settle him. Wouldn't make him feel better though.

He thought it would be Motherlove that set him off, but strangely he'd been okay. He'd been there when Freddie recorded what he could, him and John had gone through the track to finish it off a few years later and he hadn't felt much.

He’d forced himself to listen to it at Brian’s house the night the word’s appeared. He’d driven both Brian and himself to tears with the news that night. The words HAD to mean something. They had to.

But four years later nothing had happened, perhaps just a blip.

He tried to remember the first time he’d met Freddie, thirty odd years ago. Had those been his first words to him? Roger didn’t think so. He didn’t remember Freddie having the confidence back then. Not to have gone up to a stranger and called them ‘darling’ and pretend they’d already met.

Brian had put it more simply, it was something he must’ve said at some point, just another unlucky rare gene. Roger had shrugged at the time, not feeling anything still.

But then they'd got Brian to finish Motherlove off and suddenly he was suffocating. Roger thought he'd heard all the different ways all of them could sing by now, that in those last few decades he'd definitely heard Brian's gentle voice hardly ever sound hard or rough.

But now it was broken.

And Roger felt it like a punch in the gut. It was how all of them felt but didn't dare say, not now.

He walked forward a little, settling himself on the bench by the lake. He’d sat there before, cold beer in hand listening to Freddie talk shit about whoever happened to have trifled with him that week, cutting him off with jokes until the older man was laughing. He’d known exactly what to say then.

It was difficult to tell what would happen now, they couldn't keep going like this. It was bad enough at home, the empty house seemed to be dotted with photos and trinkets and pieces of HIM: but in the studio? That was painful. They couldn't be around eachother now, not without expecting the door to open and brown eyes to peep round, a warm voice claiming he'd slept in knowing full well he didn't set his alarm until after the recording had started.

The other two seemed to have taken it so much worse, that's what people told him, and he agreed. Roger didn't feel anything for years. He closed his eyes, letting himself breath in the scent of the pine trees that hugged the lake, feeling the warm sun on his face, making him too warm in his winter jacket.

He heard the seagulls too, the waves lapping slightly. Waves a lake shouldn't have.

Sunshine a January night couldn't have.

His eyes shot open to find himself sitting on the edge of a shallow peer, fishing boats lining the horizon and the studio nowhere to be seen.

It didn't even look like Europe. Or the nineties.

It looked like somewhere eastern in the forties. And now the words on his arm were bolder than ever.

"Hello again, darling."

Roger glanced around him again, squinting in the bright sunlight. There were a lot of people working, some rushing about on the walk way and no one seemed to notice him.

He set off, not really sure where to, but he wasn't sitting on the peer getting burnt any longer. He had to ask someone where he was, that was as far as his plan went. See if he could find a phone to call someone too if possible.

Roger surprised himself how little he panicked in that moment.

As he walked he tried to pull the collar up over his neck, trying to stop the sunburn from getting worse, but he wasn't wearing a collar.

Roger looked down, seeing a linen striped shirt and trousers, shoes tied into his belt. He'd never worn anything like this, never even seen anything like it. Well, that was a lie, he had: long ago in Freddie's mum's house, on the desk of the bureau - some relatives all dressed like him.

He also felt a hell of a lot younger than he had in years.

But that didn't mean anything?

"Mr Taylor," Roger spun on the spot, not immediately seeing the small woman in front of him, "Did you enjoy your stroll? The car is ready for you now."

"I eh… yes?" Roger blinked at her, did he know her? Did she know him? Well clearly she knew him. "Where's the car headed? Eh… I mean… where's the next stop?"

"You'll get the ferry to Dar es Salaam, I should think you'll be lodged there," she replied, leading him back towards the walk way, "Bomi has arranged for your journey back to London to be a comfortable one."

"Bomi? As in Bulsara?" Roger asked, gears starting to turn in his head.

"Of course," she paused for him to put his shoes on, looking down the road to a large house, white against the other beige buildings. Reminded him of a Mediterranean cottage. "I think Kash has been drawing you a little picture, just to say goodbye. Lord knows where Farrokh is."

What sort of a dream was this? Not only did he feel conscious, he knew what a dream was, he could perfectly remember the definition of a dream he’d once read in a book, he could trace his movements and felt more awake now than he had in years.

If it was a dream, why had it started here? Talking to his dead soulmate’s mum in a country he’d never been to, in a time he was only just born in.

Nonetheless, his feet followed the short woman up the road, feeling like he was walking through a photograph, one too colourful and bright for him to process it.

Brian had had a thing for collecting photographs, Roger recalled him pandering around with a camera throughout their tours and adventures. Well, they were all guilty of snapping away like buggery, but their guitarist was actually good at it.

Roger had always had copies made, especially of the good ones, the picture of him and Fred tended to float around his house making him sad. Sadder now he knew what those times had meant.

Might one day mean, he didn’t think it had happened yet, not in the reality he was in now.

The words on his arm were just as present as ever, the hot African sun beating down on him as he followed Jer into the house. 

Roger had never much liked looking at the photos of any of them before they met, it was always funny to laugh at John's grumpy baby picture, or a young Brian being all nerdy. But there was something he never liked, something so incomplete about the faces trapped in the paper time.

Like they weren’t finished yet, maybe because he knew how much was to be done for those faces.

But now there was a face looking up at him in stolen time, and the big brown eyes made him want to die.

He hadn’t seen them since that night, their last night. Freddie had looked a tiny bit scared, under the calmness that Roger now knew was acceptance of the end. He had always been able to read Fred’s eyes so quickly, except that fucking night.

He should’ve held his hand, kissed his cheek, told him it was going to be okay. He should’ve done more to make him happier before it was too late.

But then it was all over.

And now it wasn’t.

Roger hadn't known what to expect, like in the books he'd read; perhaps the universe stopped, or some last nugget of wisdom passed down or something, some sort of demon or demigod to pop out of the cupboard and jeer some riddle at him. Or perhaps Freddie would tell him what to do, this small four year old, he could tell him what to do.

No, those eyes looked young and grumpy, as if he wasn’t keen on Roger staring down at him speechlessly. It was mundane compared to the fiction he'd been expecting.

"I do hope you will stay for lunch, Mr Taylor," Freddie, maybe just Farrokh at this stage, didn't look best pleased. "I've been waiting."

"I…" what could he say? He almost wanted to roll his eyes, or breakdown. "Of course."

The boy grabbed his hand and dragged him away to the kitchen, and Roger was thankful it was colder there, feeling the weather or stress boil him up inside.

There was a lot going through his mind, he just wanted to hug the poor boy, but that was probably the creepiest thing he could do. Still, he wanted to know more - this had to mean something, even if he was just playing with his own brain in some sort of fever induced dream - it didn’t matter, he was seeing Freddie again.

"How old are you again?"

"Six, Mr Taylor," Farrohk told him, holding up seven fingers before correcting himself, he looked a few years younger, Roger realised, "I'm a proper grown up now, going to big school tomorrow too."

Oh. He was excited about it, Roger could tell. Which means he had so far to fall, so young too. Roger knew what had happened there, how it would shape him for years to come, but he’d always imagined big Freddie there, even knowing he was a kid. He never imagined for a second that this was the poor soul that was sent away.

"Does that not scare you?"

"No," Freddie had the plate placed in front of him, the house must've been staffed by the women that seemed to wander the halls, synchronising their work around the family, handing them what they needed. "Bapa says I'll be a better person after. That I can have a job."

"It's still a long way away," Roger told him, "And you'll have to make friends and everything "

"I know," the boy seemed confident, Roger wouldn't have questioned it if he hadn't seen the lip quiver. The same one he'd seen countless times from his drums, during late night drinks and on long trips in dingy buses. "But I'll be proper after this. That's what everyone wants."

"Fre- Farrokh," Roger took his shoulder, looking at the boy, "You don't have to be what everyone wants. You don't have to listen to them, cause trust me, you don't need them."

"Then what, Mr Taylor?" Big brown eyes looked at him again, "I don't understand.."

"Me neither, but it will work out," Roger told him, "You'll shine so bright… You have no idea how much love people will have for you.”

“Mama says I won’t be anything if I don’t start studying.”

"Don't worry about her," Roger told him quickly, "One more thing before I leave-"

"Are you leaving? But you’re the best tutor I’ve ever had, you can’t go."

"I don't know, so just listen. You are so loved, okay? It's going to be a bollocks to get through life, but I promise you, I'll look out for you." Had he though? Had he looked out for Freddie? “We’ll meet again, you can hold on for me, yeah?”  
“I don’t understand, Mr Taylor.”

“It’s okay, Freddie,” Roger insisted, seeing the light get brighter around him ceaselessly, “Just hold on.”

Was he going home? Or somewhere else?


	2. Not in Lone Splendour Hung aloft the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks for reading and thank you for all the comments! I appreciate each of them.
> 
> The vote for this chapter was,
> 
> "Will Roger try to help Freddie do something that's morally wrong, or will he ignore his friend to try to learn about his time traveling situation?"
> 
> And the votes came in for him to be loyal and help his friend, so here you go!
> 
> Next weeks question will be on the bottom note, as always hope you enjoy and remember that this is interactive, what you choose will change the story!

He couldn’t keep track of time in the white fog around him, much like the characters he’d read about. Was this all just a dream then? His brain following along to what he knew from books? Whatever it was he’d take it, but he wanted to go home now.

Maybe that was it sorted? Maybe he’d fixed something, the butterfly effect, and now all would be well.

Maybe Freddie would be back.

The fog lifted slowly into darkness, making him wonder if he’d died, if this was what happened after death. But no, this was another warm room, pitch dark and buzzing with flies.

He sat up, carefully reaching over to open the curtains; the light streaming through. It looked a lot like a hotel room, and he was still young. He wondered perhaps if this was one of the hazy early days, his head full of heat while his body shivered and the memories swirled.

It didn’t feel like that. He spotted clothes set out in the chair, a three piece beige suit that he’d never have worn, it looked like something his dad would’ve worn. Rubbing his head he realised his head was short, harshly combed in a side parting he wouldn’t have been seen dead in in his twenties.

What was he in now?

Roger decided the best thing to do was just go with it, to carefully put the clothes on and play the part the universe clearly wanted him to play. He resisted fixing his hair, putting some glasses on to appease the Gods, or whatever was sending him into this universe.

Even if it was himself.

He left his room, finding himself in a corridor, dark wood floors and ornate paintings hung on the walls. There was a noise coming from down the stairs, reminding him of his school days. He followed it, having a suspicion about where he was already.

He was right, it was a school. A very specific school, an Indian school with hundreds of boys running around the food hall squabbling. Roger immediately looked out for Freddie, the poor soul, but he didn’t have time to.

“Roger, over here,” A tall portly man, strict looking and cane bearing, tapped his shoulder, the smell of too much after-shave seemed to come off him in waves, “Teacher’s table is over here.”

“Thank you… eh,” Roger searched the room for clues on the man’s name, but ended up using the cheap trick Freddie would’ve rolled his eyes at, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I quite caught your name.”

“Professor Chrisna,” he replied, not looking impressed by the answer, “You will be doing the dorm checks tonight, making sure all of the boys behave, classes as normal during the day.”

“Right, right,” he followed behind him, picking a chair that was still vacant. So he’d be Freddie’s teacher? Was this the game? “Which classes do I have?”

The question made Professor Chrisna grunt, taking out his cigar that seemed to explain why his mouth curved off to one side. “You will teach the boys in first year science in the morning, the books are on your desk, chalkboard on the wall and belt in the draw. You will then have the second year students in the afternoon. Can you find your classroom without a repeat explanation?”

“Yes, yes of course, sorry,” Roger bit his tongue. He remembered the belt from school, the fear of it made him less of an irritant than he should have been, but on the few occasions he’d gotten it had been imprinted in his memory. He remembered his dad also, just the fear of telling him he’d crashed the van hurt more than the smack itself. 

He distracted himself with the food - sticking to fruit and bread and non spiced hor d'oeuvres and sweetmeats, eyes still searching the tables of students for those familiar eyes, but even with glasses he couldn’t make the detail out past the front row.

He didn’t like the look of the school, so walled in and badly lit, like they didn’t want anyone to see the horizons. He wondered briefly if that was why Freddie had dispelled the idea of education like this, going to art school was more liberal and relaxed, and he hardly ever saw his friend with a book heavier than Beatrix Potter.

He set off for his classroom before Professor Chrisna, asking pupils for directions instead - they’d be less rude (if anything they were almost scared, particularly the younger ones. Was Fred scared? Had he grown up scared?).

His first class was dozy. Not that Roger put much effort in after reading out the register and not seeing what he was looking for. He just read out parts of the textbook, explaining what little extra he knew for them to take notes on. He hoped this would hurry up, the last time he’d found Freddie within minutes.

No such luck. The three hour lesson ended with the pupils learning fuck all, and him learning the date: November 1953, and that if anything bullying was encouraged in this hell hole. Carefully he went to lunch, grabbing some food and escaping quickly before Chrisna found him for more awful conversation and smoke to the face.

Part of him worried that Freddie wouldn’t find him there, but if the universe wanted to mind fuck him, the universe could send the boy to him. Instead he took the time to eat in peace and try to find some answer to his time travelling in the textbooks they had about physics.

***

“Oi! Bucky! Come back here!” 

He ducked under the fist, running down the corridor as fast as he could. The classrooms were empty, if he could just reach them he’d be able to put a door between him and Artun.

“Come here you buck-toothed twerp,” the older boys jeered, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

They were, Freddie knew that was a fact. A painfully learned empirical fact. They were reasonably clever for thugs, he’d grant them that much, they would whisper the insults, rile him, do petty unprovable things like move his belongings in the dorm, or steal food or be rough during sports. It was constant.

He dodged into one of the science classrooms, slamming the door hard and locking it, breathing heavily as the kicking and scratching started on the other side of it. Just got out of that.

“Did they hurt you?”

Freddie spun on his heel, eyes like plates waiting for a teacher to pounce. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the teachers or the classmates.

“I’m s-sorry, I-I didn’t m-mean to, s-sir,” his stammer and lisp were both pronounced, he knew that, staring up at this man who looked kinder than the other adults did. Looked like someone he ought to know. “T-the older b-b-b older boys were chasing me.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay Fred,” the teacher patted his shoulder, “Just relax.”

“I-I’m not not Fred, s-sir,” he shook his head, “Bulsara, Farrokh.”

“Come in a sit down, Farrokh,” the blond pulled a chair out for him, “What were they after?”

The boy sat nervously, he’d heard rumours about this. He would just answer honestly, try to spare himself the worst of the punishments - eyeing the belt that would very probably meet his hands soon. “They d-don’t like me.”

“Why not? Hey, hey you can talk to me, please. I’m not going to hit you. Never.” the teacher knelt to his level, “And ‘nuf of that sir shite. Call me Roger.”

“O-okay,” Farrokh nodded. Did he trust this man?

“Do you remember me? I think I tutored you the summer before school.” 

“I didn’t have a t-t… a tutor.” the brown eyed boy told him, “I d-don't know you.”

“Right, right. Must be mistaken,” Roger smiled a little. So these episodes were isolated? He really needed to find out more on the subject, see if he could find a way out. “Do you want me to go tell them off?”

“Th-they haven’t… d-done anything, Roger.”

“They were threatening you, mate. That's bad enough.” Roger could hear the kicking pitter out, the goons had fucked off. “Were they going to fight you?”

Farrokh nodded, looking down at his hands. “They’ll just d-do it before dinner, say I-I f-fell and hurt myself. No one ever sees them.”

“How about you come here straight after dinner?” Roger offered, “Come here and I’ll speak to them if they come for you.”

“T-they’ll ca- catch me on the way. Artun always does.”

“Then let them get in the first punch,” Roger made eye contact with confused brown eyes, “If they punch first it’s a fight. You keep running and bring it here, then I can get them in trouble for you, okay?”

“That’s cheating, is isn’t it?” the boy didn’t want to play dirty to get rid of them, to do something immoral, “...Will it get rid of th-them?”

“Hopefully,” Roger smiled gently, “What class do you have next? I’ll walk you to it.”

As it turned out Freddie had piano next, and as much as Roger would’ve killed to have been there to watch, Chrisna was the music teacher and probably would’ve pulled him into a bollocking for not being at his own class.

Was this the event, to help Freddie get some kids in trouble? Get Freddie safe for now until the next time?

***  
"I'm a professor of theoretical physics," the man was old and crooked, the sapka hat covering a bald patch, the more traditional physicist looking type (compared to Roger’s other curly haired frame of reference). "Specialising in the fourth dimension."

Roger's interest was piqued further, looking up from his dinner to look at the man again. He’d sat himself on a different table, next to some more friendly looking people; making polite conversation and letting him ask a few back. He hadn’t really unveiled anything, until now.

"That's time, right? Time is the fourth dimension." Roger wished perhaps he'd listened a little more to Brian, but it still felt out of his depths - could time travel be real? Had there been much research? This felt like it was magic, if such a thing were real.

"Very well done," the elderly man nodded, "My final lecture on the subject is today."

"Final? Why, what's happening?" Roger raised an eyebrow, was this how he got home? Help Freddie with some bullies then talk to this man and go?

It had to be that, the man seemed a little out of place in it all, a strange man wearing too many colours and patterns teaching a subject that doesn’t exist? Time sensitive too, this had to be it.

"I'm retiring, dear chap, leaving the teaching to you young people," he laughed, "It's on later today, in nearly an hour's time if you'd like. All sorts of time travel notions that are currently being dispelled will be proven."

"I'll be there," Roger nodded quickly, "Definitely."

But what about Freddie? The young boy was preparing to fight the group of bullies, planning on cheating anyway. How would Roger help him do it if he was away? Was that definitely the moment? Did it matter what he did?

Did he have to choose between his fate and Freddie's?

He’d already lost Freddie once, he wouldn’t lose him again. Fuck his fate, fuck his escape from here. Even if it wasn’t real, he would choose his friend over all else, even himself.

***

Roger was waiting in his classroom, waiting for the sounds of a struggle. Waiting to save his friend. Part of him wondered if he still had time to go to the lecture, if it was even worth it - but no, he had to wait here or else he’d miss his chance.

It happened later than he imagined, he was almost going to give up and go look for them, but suddenly rushed footsteps where making their way towards his door, and sure enough, Freddie was charging ahead, lip bust and bleeding as he tumbled into the classroom breathless, five larger boys crashing in after him: stopping dead in their tracks.

“Artun Laghari,” Roger picked out the ring leader easily, “What do you think you are doing?”

“Teaching him a lesson sir,” Artun told him confidently, “He doesn’t speak properly.”

“So you thought to beat him into enunciating?” Roger snapped. If this was any other situation he would have laughed at how much like a real teacher he sounded. But right now wasn’t the time. “We’re going straight to the head master’s office. Now!”

“I’m sure papa will love to hear how a junior teacher is threatening the best boxer and his friends.” The boy closest to Artun sneered, “All because of a scared rabbit.”

Roger stilled, he could feel Freddie behind him, shaking as he held onto the tails of his jacket. What had he just fucked up for him?

It all happened too fast, one of the boys scarpered to find their head teacher, bringing back a large red faced man with a scowl on his face.

Roger watched helplessly as he was handed a leather belt, pushed in the direction of a now sobbing Freddie. “I don’t unders-”

“Bulsara was plotting to get these older boys in trouble. Dishonesty is punished with ten strokes to the palms.” The headmaster told him, “Furthermore, lying and loitering make it twenty strokes in total. Now, Mr Taylor.”

“No,” Roger looked at him, handing him the belt. “Absolutely not. He didn’t do any of those things, he was trying to protect himself. I won’t hurt him and neither will you.”  
“Step out, Taylor.” The headmaster settled him with a grave look, “I will not take this from a staff member.”

Roger didn’t have time to react, it felt like he never had time to react. Like he was running to fast down hill just waiting to make the misstep. The world started to go white again, he could only just make out the noise of the belt landing hard on someone’s skin - a sharp cry and more sobbing followed.

Roger tried to reach out, tried to call out. But he was immoblie, fading away into the void again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, glad to see you got this far!
> 
> This weeks vote is;
> 
> "Will Roger warn Freddie that the Zanzibar Riots (and thus the complete dishevelment of Freddie's family) are imminent, or will he try not to warn him about it in an attempt to maintain the timeline he knows?"
> 
> Vote either in the comments, or Dm/ask on my tumblr of the same name! As I said before, your vote does count and will change how this story goes. The consequences of the last choice will become apparent soon enough!


	3. And Watching, With Eternal Lids Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, thank you all for reading this, hope it'll be enjoyable,
> 
> First of all let me apologies for the massive wait, I really couldn't think of a way to write this for a long time, and it's ended up being a touch short because of it, but I'll try my best to do better next time.
> 
> the choice for this chapter was:
> 
> "Should Roger warn Freddie about the imminent Zanzibar riots that will change his life, or not?"
> 
> and with an almost landslide victory, the votes went towards Roger telling him. This will have consequences, indeed the consequences of the last choice will start to become apparent in this chapter too.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the feedback you've all given this story, it really means the world, I hope this continues! I hopefully will update a little sooner than last time too!
> 
> The question for next week will appear at the bottom note, please vote carefully - there is no right answer, but it will change the way it works out.
> 
> If you have any asks or requests, head over to my tumblr (Honey-Rae-Pluto) and just ask away!
> 
> Love Pluto xxx

He was still crying out to help when he woke up, thrashing in his bed sheets and subsequently getting tangled in them.

Roger more than knew the drill by now, grabbing whatever clothes he could find and rushing to get out and see it all. See what dreadful page of Freddie’s life he would have to endure now. See what dreadful page Freddie would be made to endure.

It was still night, part of him wondered if it was too early, if he should’ve gone to that lecture instead. There seemed to be bad ways of doing it, he just got written out of existence each time, but did those memories last?

He needed answers now, running madly towards any sign of Freddie. He could see a bar of some sort, not the kind he and Freddie had been to many times, not the happy drowsy memories that the soul rose tints to the mind’s blind eye.

No, it looked more like a smoke room, the shady dark clubs that were full of elderly men puffing cigars and talking about how hard they fought the foreigners in the war.

Roger could see the congregation of men, already some guns on the table and anger thick in the air. What had he just walked in on? He took a few steps forward, would Freddie be here? He didn’t even know how hold he’d be, it had been years since the first encounter and the second.

It had been years since he last saw Freddie, that cold November. He should’ve been there more, should have asked him more and let himself like him in the way he wanted to, damn the words on his arm - he should have let himself love.

“I’d get out of here, Englishman, were I you,” the barmaid stopped him going further with a hand on the crook of his arm, “Now is not the time to drink.”

“I’m just looking for my friend, he lives here.”

“He shouldn’t, bad times ahead,” she shook her head, “The stones foretold it so.”

“What stones?” Roger looked at her more closely, she looked like a traveller, again out of place with the scene, “Is it something I’ve done?”

“Yes.”

“How do I fix it?” Maybe he could go back and fix the incident at the school, maybe he could keep Freddie safe from the teachers as well, “Is there a way back?”

“You think you can fix what the white men did to the world?” She looked at him, “Go home, this is not for you.”

Roger nodded, he could hear the room getting rowdier and now wasn’t the time to sort world issues, Freddie was more important to him right now.

He left quickly, jogging away from it towards the house he’d come from - maybe Freddie would be there? He didn’t stop to chat with anyone else, hearing the chatter of people and wild cats in the night.

Roger was by then certain he was in Zanzibar, he could see the start of vandalism and anger painted all over the town - must be the sixties too.

He was almost going to walk past the lad sitting by the steps on the plaza, weakly humming a Lonnie Donegal song, back to Roger; completely in his own world.

But the blond could sense he had to stay still here, this was it. Like a rope pulling him forward he walked around the boy, barely sixteen, hair flopping wildly from what looked like an attempt at a teddy boy look.

He could see Freddie had been crying.

Roger sat beside him, gently rubbing his arm, "What's happened?"

"I've just fucked everything up," he admitted, quicker than he would've when he was older. Perhaps cause no one had listened now, Roger thought, he'd put up walls, "I've left boarding school with fuck all, my parents want me to go back to India to train as an accountant or some shit."

"You don't need to do that, Fred," Roger told him, "Just wait and see."

"I don't want to leave here, I don't want to stay either," Freddie continued, leaning on him slightly now, the slight smell of alcohol obvious - otherwise he probably would’ve cottoned on to a random stranger using his name, "There's been vandals too, smashing a few windows, the livingroom one went through last night."

"Don't worry about any of that," Roger insisted. Had something happened? Freddie had always just said 'left', they just left. He knew there was a revolution, but it had always sounded so distant. Was there more to this? "You'll be just fine."

"How do you know? My parents hate me and they'd hate me more if they knew everything... There's no jobs I can do, no jobs I want to do, can't stay, can't go. How do you know it's all going to be fine?"

Roger paused for a moment, he'd almost forgotten how intense he could be. Was he forgetting?

Freddie softened at that, "Look it doesn't matter, as much as I'd love a crystal ball I don't have one."

Should he just tell him? Tell him in a few months he'd be forced to run to England, spend the next few years struggling along to find his way?

Fuck it, what difference was it going to make?

“Fred, there’s going to be a riot… a revolution,” He didn’t even know why it had happened, he felt like shit for not knowing, “you might have to leave.”

“Do you know this for sure?” Freddie looked at him, “Definitely?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Shit, we’ll need to tell my dad,” He got up, harshly yanking Roger up with him, “He works with the police, they can stop it.”

“No!” shit, shit… it had to happen… “Maybe I’m not certain… look at me, I’m a stranger.”

“Well then don’t fucking joke about it,” Freddie shoved him, “It’s terrifying - they could kill us all if it actually happens, how does that not scare you to the bone?”

Oh. OH. 

“I’m sorry, Fred I really am,” he breathed out when Freddie let him advance without any retaliation, “It’s going to be okay, I know that much.”

“Oh your conviction is so helpful,” Freddie gave him a snide look, “I don’t trust people who say they know what they’re doing - they sound like teachers.”

“So you didn’t like your teachers then.”

“Not in the slightest. They use the belt as quickly as they can undo it.”

Roger nodded… there couldn’t be any second meaning to that, could there? Freddie had never told him that, but there had always been a sense of deep implication… What had happened?

“You know, dear miserable stranger,” Freddie spoke almost like a Shakespearean actor about to perform a soliloquy, not looking at him, caught in his thoughts, “I don’t even remember the worst day ever, but I remember the day after… Woke up in the ward room, so much pain, sheets already tinted red, could hardly move.”

“Freddie-”

“Then my parents wonder why I didn’t go to the classes, why I did so badly in most of them-”

“Fred, please-”

“I made myself throw up rather than be there again, nothing is allowed to go wrong again, okay?” It felt like he was speaking straight to him, like he knew Roger had been there, “If something happens again I don’t want to be that little boy. Not again. No…”

Roger felt like he’d been punched in the gut, he’d caused it. He had made the call to help Freddie that day, he knew it had to be the same day. He might as well have done whatever happened to Freddie himself.

Whatever had happened… who knew what that was, he dreaded to think, but his mind knew, and his heart hurt.

“I’m sure about the revolution, Freddie.” as soon as he said it started to get white, but he lunged forward to grab Freddie’s arm, “Please, it will be okay… It will, just sit tight and it will.”

But then it was too late - the arm disappeared from his grasp, the world too white, he wasn’t even sure if Freddie had heard him, let alone believed him.

But what could he do except wait for the next terrible episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks again for reading, I hope it wasn't too shabby!
> 
> I'm half considering making one of these chapters completely interactive, almost like a dungeons and dragons type of set up if anyone is interested!
> 
> But more importantly, the question for the next chapter is:
> 
> "DOES ROGER KISS FREDDIE, OR DOES HE LET ROSEMARY ASK FREDDIE OUT?"


	4. Chapter 4

Music blared in his ears when he woke up, an out of tune guitar loudly screeching as he fell to the floor. Roger could smell the alcohol, people bumping into him and stepping over him as he tried to catch his breath. He much preferred waking up in bed and having to work it out than being thrown in here.

He managed to crawl to the wall of the room, recognising it valuely, somewhere in the late sixties by the clothing, the furs and velvets and psychedelic music. The blond looked down at himself, trying to work out what he was this time, homeless by the looks of it, patchy jeans and a too small shirt, hair still trying to be long but sort of a bob cut.

He used the wall to prop himself up, someone else slamming into the back of him as he did so. Now at standing height, he could see what the room was, one of the old practice rooms at Imperial College, must’ve been one of the bands that circulated around at that time, possibly even during his own tenure at the Uni.

What if he stumbled into himself? He had to find Freddie though… It didn’t matter if he ruined his own personal history, he had to get to Freddie. Roger stared at his arm in the half light, the words throbbing - had he done something wrong? Maybe Freddie wasn’t meant to know anything about it…

Roger raced as quickly as he could out the fire escape, not minding who he knocked over, more students standing around in the car park, the smell of drugs and obviously phased out swaying really throwing him back to the days they’d gone cold and hungry, wearing expensive clothing and smoking and drinking, missed lectures and half arsed papers, laughing until everything hurt, breathlessly leaning against each other on shared mattresses.

He had pushed that all back, labeled it all as bad, forgotten the good, but now, back in the moment of it all, when this was his entire world, it was probably the last time life was simple.

He looked around, wondering a little further out to see if he could stop Freddie in the midst of the group. There were faces he recognised, some were still living around him - trapped young and unwritten behind glass, names jotted down on the back at his house, or settled adults he saw at random, wrinkled and weathered, so far from how they danced on nights like this. Other were forgotten, just anecdotes of a drunken night out to tell women the day after mindless sex. Some were dead, like Freddie, drugs or alcohol or just bad luck, ghosts of his youth nodding at him as he went.

Ghosts like him.

What good was he compared to them? He lived alone, no kids, no soulmate - no one he’d ever realised. Even if he could fix this, would it bring any of that time back? Freddie might still be dead at the end of it all, the choices he’d made had already gone wrong-

“Roger!”

He spun instantly, looking down to see a short slight woman with cropped hair, but more importantly; Freddie.

“Hey…” What was her name? He definitely knew her, Freddie certainly seemed too, the way she was clinging to him. He looked Freddie up and down, not really feeling subconscious about it at this point. He was still dressed in too-short drainpipe trousers, a new looking jacket though, no doubt something he'd managed to find second hand cheaply.

“Rosemary,” She answered for him, giving him a look, “Someone’s a bit hazy, how much have you had?”

“Half the barrel knowing him,” Freddie smiled, carefully so as to not show his teeth, “You at least remember your flatmate.”

“Course I do.” He nodded quickly - so he was himself this time, whatever that meant for this, “So eh… how’ve you been?”

“What? SInce you saw me an hour ago?” Freddie raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, fab-”

“Mike has pot,” Rosemary interrupted them, starting to head off towards another group, “I said I’d go halves with vicky but she’s already left.”

Was this the time he’d tried it? Of all the drugs he’d done in his life, that one hadn’t even been the strongest. But it had been the worst. He’d sort of known that would happen though… he’d done it for a reason.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, darling,” Freddie poked his arm gently, “Cheer up.”

“I… you’re going to kiss her, aren’t you?” Roger looked at him wide eyed, memories flooding in.

“She is my girlfriend, Roger, that shouldn't really be such a shook-”

“For the first time?” 

“None of your business,” Freddie crossed his arms, looking at his shoes. Definitely lying. There was something else there too: fear. He was scared of it, always hiding his mark with armbands and sleeves, hoping not to find whoever it led to.

“It’s all my business.” Roger shook his head, the vignette solidifying. He’d not acted, watched from a distance as jealousy shook his core, smoking whatever someone had handed him out of pure self-hatred. Locking that memory away with all the others.

“You’re plastered,” Freddie decided, walking away in the same direction she’d gone in, “Go home before you end up in a bar fight.”

“I’m sober, Freddie,” he chased after him, grabbing his arm to spin his around, “Don’t kiss her.”

“What?” he scoffed, not trying to get out of the blond’s grasp.

“Just let me…” Roger leaned in, doing something he should’ve done years ago, well this was years ago. But something he should never have resisted. Freddie’s lips were soft, the woman’s cologne he used filling his lungs.

The world around him started to go white again, he knew his time was starting to run out, arm searing with pain now. “Freddie, Fred, I’ll find you,” He could already start to feel the warmth of Freddie’s body disappear, his lips and hands dematerialising in front of him, “I’ll find you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choice for next chapter, does Roger ask Brian what's wrong, or does he ask Freddie about his childhood?
> 
> Thanks for reading folks! Votes in the comments or at my tumblr!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO the choice was; does Roger ask Brian what's wrong, or ask Freddie about his childhood, and the vote was incredibly close, but option one won out, so here you have it.
> 
> ALSO READ THE SMEGGING TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

Roger seemed to wait a long time before he landed anywhere.

In that time he seemed to inspect the nothingness, the life in limbo, the lack of life. He wondered how Freddie’s life had appeared to him, how he seemed to cross it like reading a book, the pages so fragmented, so lost in the times he knew.

But what if this was real? He’d ruin Freddie’s life… If it wasn’t real he’d ruin his own. And maybe he deserved it. Maybe this was his reward, travelling through fire and pain to see what he didn’t before. To live in it.

He didn’t have a form here, wherever this was, but he knew the words on his arm, the stinging they caused his heart. Because he never asked. When he first met Freddie, scuttling away in too small clothes and walking through London to save the change for cabs he couldn’t afford. Roger had been too aware of the ice there, the thinnest ice, but this was the big city; the town that glowed at night where the world tilted from - one lonely boy was hardly surprising.

And he’d become friends with this boy, had spent hours smoking to records and catching glances between moments. Roger had watched the ice thicken, never questioning why…

And then the ice melted, the fires Freddie forged to protect it eating away at him, the mayfly man standing on the eleventh hour. Roger hadn’t asked then either - he’d been distracted, tried to be distracted.

He didn’t want to know what created the ice in the first place. He didn’t want to know what he’d been looking past all these years. He was scared to and he couldn’t even see it.

And then that night, that night. He could feel his heart shiver with the weight of loss, he’d seen through the ice that night, just as the last of it melted. Just for a fragment of a second. And what if he’d known? What if he had known for years that Freddie had been his soulmate? Would the pyres of Freddie’s soul have never been lit? Would he still be alive…

He could picture it for a moment, for a day, an eternity; however long it lasted. Roger could see them moving into somewhere after college, the long nights on the tour bus suddenly warmer, Ziggy living with Tom and Jerry, talking about kids and mortgages and flower pots and all that crappy in-between stuff he never got.

He was angry as the whiteness faded, angry at the world, at his soulmark, at himself. Oh he was furious - he could’ve stopped this pain for them both. He now lay in bed, red faced and raging.

He could feel someone shifting around behind him, a warm familiar scent that helped him calm down a little. Freddie. This never happened though, well - he couldn’t exactly prove that any of the other ones had happened, but he’d never shared a bed with him, not like this. His eyes opened a little, seeing a mix of clothes on the floor, naked under the covers.

This had definitely never happened.

He reached up to his hair, feeling it end just a few inches from his head - so it was after he’d first cut it short, but still scraggly. That set him in the late seventies. He should be living with Dom, before their relationship failed, before the next relationship failed too.

Perhaps it’d fail with Fred too. He shouldn’t be so surprised, he’d yet to make a relationship work for more than a few years. Maybe this would be different though, if they really were soulmates…

“Stop thinkin’ so much,” Freddie shifted around, wrapping an arm around him. It was only a small touch; but to Roger it was like a flame against his bare skin. More than that really, it was like a touchstone, scolding hot but guiding him to a home he never knew he had.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“Can sense you,” Freddie mumbled, face pressed against his shoulder, “I can always sense you.”

Roger nodded, that made sense, he wanted this in his life. Part of him hoped this was reality, not some wild dream, not that he was going to wake up in the nineties and lose him all over again. 

“I’ll let you go, I can sense you want coffee,” Freddie smiled, “You better make me a cup though, sharing is caring.”

“That’s not sharing, that’s just doing it for you,” Roger could feel his own smile rising as he sank into the scene, belonging. He slipped out of bed, somehow used to being so naked and vulnerable, despite it being new. Or perhaps it wasn’t to him. Perhaps this was his everyday. He could remember if he tried, how they got there, him ‘stealing’ Freddie away from the studio, the kiss mixed with teases, the jokes and pulling of clothes.

How natural the foreign zoetrope he’d woken up to was to him. This wasn’t one of Freddie’s memories, and it wasn’t his own. But there he was, watching the cards spin and dance, and he would launch all he had at it to stay there.

Brian was downstairs, picking at the guitar strings quietly, holding them down so they wouldn’t really make a noise. He hadn’t really seen him since he’d started this adventure, who knew how long ago, days for him.

Roger watched quietly, he supposed him and Tim were still together in this universe. That’d be something - they hadn’t broken up yet, not for a few years. Maybe he could fix them too… or maybe they were always destined to be apart, they weren’t soulmates either, just mates.

He got the kettle filled and on, leaving it boiling while he got some toast. He probably wouldn’t be allowed long here, it’d be too good to be true if he could actually live in this image, age and wither in this reality. If anything he was surprised there wasn’t more of an issue, something coming up to make him protect Freddie.

Maybe the universe was giving him a rest this round. He’d like that. He could go up and ask Freddie about his life, about his school and leaving Zanzibar; maybe he’d vaguely remember a blond teacher, or a random man talking to him that night. 

Roger grinned to himself, he’d missed the opportunity to ask the science professor at Freddie’s school, but he could ask Freddie himself, see if he’d really made a difference. He might well have saved his life, they could still be together in the future, they could be living like soulma-

Brian let out a muffled sob, derailing his thoughts in an instant. Roger spun on his heel, looking at the man trying to cover it as a cough, wet cheeks betraying him. Roger could feel his soulmark hurt, he could just pretend he hadn’t heard, go back upstairs and interrogate Freddie… or he could check on his friend.

“Bri?” Roger walked over, Freddie might’ve been his main mission, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to look out for the others when he found them.

“Sorry, no, don’t worry. It’s nothing. Just go back upstairs, don’t worry,” Brian shook his head, waving him away, “Go go, don’t mind me. I’m fine, it’s fi-”

“What happened?” Roger pulled the guitar away, propping it against the sofa, “Brian, come on, you can tell me. You and Staffle have a fight?”

“No, and no I don’t need you to beat him up before you ask,” brian looked up, something deeply depressed about him. Of course Roger had seen that look before, it’d be his natural state for months sometimes, the scraggly beard and sunken eyes, the half jokes that lacked tone or enthusiasm. But this was different. He’d not seen the pain look so raw since Freddie’s funeral, even then; Brian looked like he’d been expecting the wound. Now he just looked hurt. Really hurt. “It’s nothing.”

“It clearly isn’t,” Roger sat on the coffee table, down to his level, “Please?”

“I… I was pregnant…” Brian said quietly, talking into his thumb as he chewed the nail of it.

“Oh,” Roger sat back, he hadn’t even thought about that, “Congratula-”

“Was.” Brian repeated, voice sounding thin and dry, “Tim’s away, he knows but… I don’t know if we can keep going. I don’t know if I can.”

Roger pulled him in, wrapping an arm around him. Had this happened in his reality too? He’d known Brian had been living with Freddie on and off during this time, but this?

“I am so sorry,” He told him, rubbing his back, “Have you made anything to remember them?”

Brian blinked, shifting his gaze to look at him, “You didn’t say I could try again.”

“Because realistically if you haven’t heard it before you’ve worked that out yourself,” Roger told him, “And I’m your friend, I know what you’re like - I know you don’t let go, not if it means anything.”

“The garden,” Brian replied, “It’s not like there was something to… you know. But I’ve bought flowers, lots of roses and wildflowers, ivy for the wall going up to the patch. Somewhere happy.”

“That’s lovely,” Roger smiled, “You’ll have to put up some wind chimes and spindles once it’s grown, make it pretty.”

Brian just nodded, relaxing a little now, hearing someone sound vaguely positive about it, someone say something relevant, even if it was just chatter.

***

Roger re-entered their bedroom a long while later, two cups of fresh coffee and some very cold toast in hand. Freddie was sitting up in bed, smiling softly at him, little ziggy trying to chase her tail on his lap.

“Sorry, got a little eh… caught up.” Roger excused, handing him the drink.

“It’s alright, I heard,” Freddie told him, “I came down wondering what was taking so long… you were good to him.”

“He was upset.”

“I know, I didn’t really know what to say when he told me, but you’re better with these things,” the older man nodded, “You’ve always been good at the family's side of things.”

“Making up for my daddy issues,” Roger joked somewhat dryly, unsure of where Freddie was taking this, “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking, that for the first time in my life, I’d not be against having a family of my own,” Freddie told him, eyes tracking him for his reaction, “At least if we fuck it up we can afford to get them counselling.”

“That’s,” There was a ‘we’ in his plans, Roger realised, they had a set future together, a them. He could see the edges of his vision start to turn white, knowing he was coming to the end of this one, but strangely he didn’t care; he may well have started something else off. “That’s great, love… that’s really great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, it really means a lot to me that people have been leaving comments and getting involved etc. There isn't a choice for the next one, it's the final chapter and it's a show of what's all happened. There were good and bad options, and there were four separate endings, which I'll reveal once I've finished the final chapter whenever that happens (I'm so sorry the publishing dates have been wild on this fic).
> 
> Just a quick thank you to the people that have votes, I genuinely expected there to be white noise when I asked, but there's been a steady turn out of five or six votes, and I couldn't be happier with it, I know it's only a rambling few paragraphs that aren't exactly great, but it's really nice to know some folk are reading this and enjoying it.
> 
> As always, if you have any questions, requests, whatever, you can head over to my tumblr (same name you know the drill), also if there's anything specific you would like to see in the final chapter just say, the law of time are mine and they barely fucking listen, but maybe if the wind is blowing in the right direction we may get a decent epilogue out of it.
> 
> Love,  
> The litre of Vodka that ghost wrote this.


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